Tired
GO
It is 10:39 PM. I am tired.
But yet I am not tired. I know I will go to sleep tonight
I also know that I will be woken up by a dog nuzzling my arm, a hand placed quietly on face, or a sweet voice in the night asking for milk.
And I will groggily lumber out of bed. Wondering why I feel so heavy, before realizing the source of my lethargy.
Many late nights. Long days. Seven years of interrupted sleep.
And I am tired.
Each day looks much like the other.
He hit me.
I need to go potty.
Will you turn the lights on?
I’m hungry.
What are you making?
Will you tell Ruth to get out of the way?
But sometimes there are sentences that waft out of the tornado of endless activity that land in my ears.
I love you, Mommy. You’re so pretty.
And even though I may not be pretty, I feel like a queen when my boys knight me with their compliments.
That moment is suspended in time . . . and briefly I have the energy of a nuclear reactor.
STOP
Good to be back at it again this week . . . as I missed last week’s writing.
